Monday, August 13, 2018
The air is steamy. I drift along in it, feeling content. Doc tells me he can tell how humid it is by the state and size of my hair, which at the moment is tall and fluffy. He called me a humometer, which is accurate, and which made me laugh. It is mighty sultry around here. The fruits of summer are ripening all at once, and everything feels so abundant; the blackberries are as big as a baby’s fist. We stop at every roadside stand, buying tomatoes from this guy, corn from that guy, peaches from everybody. I can hardly eat them fast enough. Sometimes I just throw it all in the blender together and drink it for breakfast, lunch and dinner; a tall, sweating, quart-size canning jar full of blended fruit, with a huge handful of spinach thrown in just to make me feel virtuous.
Inside the house, if you squint, everything looks orderly, but there is a slippery scrim of dog hair on every single surface, and the wet heat of the air has made my beautiful antique kitchen rug become unpleasantly fragrant. I threw it onto the driveway yesterday and scrubbed it with hot water and soap, and then rinsed and rinsed and rinsed it until the suds stopped coming out, but I think it just got worse, because it reeks now like you wouldn’t believe and I can’t even stand to have it in the house. It smells like a thousand bare feet and ten thousand snoring old dogs. It smells like two hundred years’ worth of life, which is probably just about right. More scrubbing needed, but now it looks like rain.
I want to show you my latest finished sweater. This is “Lovable” designed by Sylvia McFadden, knit in some very lovable yarn. The tag says “100% British Mixed Wools from Knockando Woolmill” in the natural Dark Grey color, yarn that was carded and spun on Victorian machinery in rural Scotland. I know!!! All those words are the best words ever! I just want to run around in circles, leaping with joy. This treasured yarn was given to me by my friend Erin, who carried it all the way from Edinburgh in her suitcase, and then, when destashing, thought of me. There will be more sweaters to come from Erin’s destash yarn, and I can hardly wait. Lovable, indeed. I wore it this morning, for awhile. I’ve been hearing the geese on the move already, and I sense a change in the air. Soon, the berries and peaches will be gone, and there will be apples and pears, and those are just as good. It’s time to get out the wooly yarns, I think.